


14.99

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “Why’d you send these to me?” He questions, pushing himself up.“I was a coward,” Alex says and fuck him for saying it so calmly. Like he can look at his flaws and face them. “But I wanted you to know.”“So I couldn’t look away."





	14.99

The unmarked envelope is heavier than Michael expects.

He’s still getting used to having one hand and one claw, so it takes him some effort to get it open. When he does, there’s no paper in it. No long explanation he can roll his eyes at and read a thousand times over. He actually has to tip the envelope over.

A pair of dog tags spill out.

For a moment his mind shuts down. He knows even before he picks them up what’s on them, though his eyes don’t want to take in the information. He sits down hard on the bed, staring at the two tags on their long ball chain. He’s noticed Alex isn’t around, but why the hell would he be? After Michael couldn’t protect him, after he was so useless what point was there in sticking around. Roswell has never felt so claustrophobic. Now he knows where Alex is.

Alex is in the Air Force.

Michael grips the metal to his chest and for the first time since the hammer fell down, he lets himself weep.

* * *

 

He doesn’t think much when he hears about the military changing their dog tag rules.

Not until the envelope comes.

These ones are different, there’s a series of randomly generated numbers instead of the digits of Alex’s social security number. And now both the tags are surrounded by black rubber bumpers. He looks up the news immediately and tries not to be sick at the announcement that the first people who get these are the ones who are deploying.

Alex is good and smart, of course they want him on the front lines.

God, Alex is good and smart and so reckless. Michael feels sick to his stomach as he holds the tags in his hand. He can’t even look at them. He puts them in the drawer with the last ones and flees to the Pony, getting so shitfaced that he winds up being not only thrown out but also banned for a week. He staggers home and pours three bottles of acetone down his throat before he goes back to the drawer.

He runs his thumb over the dog tags before he loops the chain around his neck and falls asleep as close to Alex as the world will let him get.

* * *

 

The next set of tags arrive two years later.

The only change is Alex’s religion.

Apparently he’s a Jedi now.

Michael laughs.

* * *

 

“I need to borrow a shirt,” Alex admits, holding up the one that Michael has literally torn off him.

“Top drawer,” he says.

Alex rolls his eyes at the smile he flashes and pushes himself up. Michael enjoys the view as Alex does up his pants and goes over, opening the wrong drawer. The sharp lines on his golden skin go even sharper and Michael realizes with a dull thud of alarm that he’s opened the wrong drawer. He’s opened the drawer with his collection of Alex’s tags. Which wouldn’t be quite so creepy if he hadn’t made it so that each had their own built in box, carefully done so they wouldn’t tangle and he could see each of them.

They are naked and they have been inside each other a lot over the past few days, but they both have an out. This can just be sex. Amidst the chaos of his trailer, Alex’s dogtags are possibly the best organized, most maintained objects. Michael doesn’t get off the bed but he does push himself up as Alex stares down at his history—at their history—with an unreadable expression on his face. Michael finally gets up and reaches over, pulling out a t-shirt and holding it to him.

“Thanks,” he says. Michael has to resist yelling when he doesn’t reach for it and instead, brushes his fingers against the dog tags, “you kept these?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael says.

“I—“ Alex starts.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Michael says and closes the drawer when his hands are free. He doesn’t need Alex’s pity and he doesn’t want to talk about the fact that he’s kept the dog tags. He doesn’t want Alex to leave. “Here,” he says.

Alex finally takes the shirt.

He comes back two days later and then Michael can open the drawer again.

* * *

 

“Michael please,” Alex says, crouching in front of him.

Michael doesn’t remember. Not how he got on the floor, not why everything smells like the acetone bottles he can see everywhere. His hand is red and purple like it’s supposed to be but the skin is smooth. It smells like nail polish. Looking at Alex takes a moment for his eyes to focus and he tries to smile but it only makes the pain on Alex’s face go worse.

“Your family—“

Pain slices through him.

“My family’s dead,” he snarls.

“Isobel isn’t,” Alex tells him, his voice low and angry, “I’m not,” before Michael can respond, he gets up and goes into the drawer. Michael can barely think but he knows he’s not supposed to go in there. Before he can stop him, Alex comes back and loops the chain around his neck, tucking the tag into his shirt. It hangs over his heart like a brand, “you’re not either. Please remember that.”

“Why’d you send these to me?” He questions, pushing himself up.

“I was a coward,” Alex says and fuck him for saying it so calmly. Like he can look at his flaws and face them. “But I wanted you to know.”

“So I couldn’t look away,” Michael snaps.

It comes out like an accusation but Alex doesn’t take the bait. His head dips but he doesn’t snap back. Michael isn’t in any position to fight but hell if he doesn’t want to. The lack of pity in Alex’s eyes doesn’t help. He hates Alex for once again being mature and reasonable. Better than he could ever hope to be. Alex pushes himself to his feet, he’s good with the prosthetic now. Better than he was the last time Michael remembers seeing him.

“I don’t look away either,” he says, “that’s not what family does.”

“This isn’t Game of Thrones!” Michael yells after him.

He gives up trying to be upright after that and lays back on the floor. His hand is still tacky with polish, but there’s no acetone left. He doesn’t care about his already ruined shirt and closes his hands over the dog tags, pressing them into his skin.

Maybe some of Alex’s strength will seep into him via osmosis.

He can only hope

* * *

 

“Captain Manes?” The guard at the gate looks confused, “ID?”

Michael has a doctored ID which seems to pass first inspection, but then the guard looks down and he prays to every God he knows that he grabbed the right tags. The most recent ones. The guard’s lips curve into a faint smile.

“Jedi, that’s a good one,” he says.

“I thought so,” Michael says and they wave him through so he can go and un-kidnapp the real Alex Manes.

Hopefully before anyone figures it out.

* * *

 

Alex lifts his shirt off and stops, staring at the tags.

“How long—“

“Since you put them on me,” he says.

Alex kisses him until he’s dizzy and sure the tag is pressed between both of their skins. He doesn’t mind the thought of having Alex’s information branded onto him. No more than he minds the thought of his lips doing nothing else but finding new ways to kiss his skin. Alex dips below his collarbone and before Michael can whine at the loss of contact, he kisses the imprint the tags have dug into his skin.

There’s something that’s both chaste and hot as fuck about it and if not for Alex’s hands at the small of his back, he’s pretty sure he’d be jelly. Alex’s lips continue to trace the outline and then kiss down his abs and lower until Alex is on his knees in front of him. Michael opens his mouth but all that seems to come out is air as Alex opens his belt and caresses every new sliver of exposed skin with his mouth. Michael clutches the tags so hard it’s a miracle they don’t leave him with a whole new kind of hand scar. He’s not entirely successful in controlling himself and for the first time ever, he moves something during sex.

“Sorry,” he exhales and Alex releases him with a wet sound that’s hotter than anything he’s ever heard, “fuck you’re good at that.”

Alex grins and untangles Michael’s hand from the tags, kissing his palm.

It feels like being reborn.

* * *

 

“What are you doing?” Michael asks as Alex slips the ball chain off his neck while he’s elbow deep in soapy water.

“Here,” Alex says and drops a new chain over his neck.

Michael glares at him and Alex rolls his eyes, holding up his own tags so Michael can read them. The name on them doesn’t feel real. A part of hime expects he will open his eyes and still be on the floor of the trailer, still be sobbing himself to sleep with those first ones clutched in his hand. Not standing doing the dishes and having silent conversations with the person who knows him best in the world.

“Go put those with the others,” he says.

“Fine, Guerin,” he says.

“That doesn’t work anymore!” Michael calls after him, “it’s your last name too now! We’re both Guerin. I have the proof.”

It hangs by his heart.

Right where Alex Guerin always has been.


End file.
